* * * * *

    “The vessels are at present under construction by the Kawashi
    Dockyard Company, Limited, of Kobe, and realised from L42 to
    L42 per ton deadweight.”—­Poverty Bay Herald.

A careful calculation will show that the average cost was almost exactly forty guineas.

* * * * *

“Several rhubord recipes have come in this week, so that the reader who esquired for recipe for rhubard jelly is supplied with this, and recipes for other rhubarb dainties as well.”—­Edmonton Journal (Canada).

If John Gilpin were to “dine at Edmonton” (Canada) he would come in for some nice new vegetables.

* * * * *

A place of arms.

    [Inscribed by a humble member of the Inner Temple to the
    Benchers of his Inn.]

  I knew a garden green and fair,
    Flanking our London river’s tide,
  And you would think, to breathe its air
    And roam its virgin lawns beside,
  All shimmering in their velvet fleece,
  “Nothing can hurt this haunt of Peace.”

  No trespass marred that close retreat;
    Privileged were the few that went
  Pacing its walks with measured beat
    On legal contemplation bent;
  And Inner Templars used to say: 
  “How well our garden looks today!”

  But That which changes all has changed
    This guarded pleasaunce, green and fair,
  And soldier-ranks therein have ranged
    And trod its beauty hard and bare,
  Have tramped and tramped its fretted floor
  Learning the discipline of War.

  And many a moon of Peace shall climb
     Above that mimic Field of Mars
  Before the healing touch of Time
     With springing green shall hide its scars;
  But Inner Templars smile and say: 
  “Our barrack-square looks well today.”

  Good was that garden in their eyes,
     Lovely its spell of long-ago;
  Now waste and mired its glory lies,
     And yet they hold it dearer so,
  Who see beneath the wounds it bears
  A grace no other garden wears.

  For still the memory, never sere,
     But fresh as after fallen rain,
  Of those who learned their lesson here
     And may not ever come again,
  Gives to this garden, bruised and browned,
  A greenness as of hallowed ground.

O.S.

* * * * *

Random flights.

By Marcus MACLEOD.

(With renewed acknowledgments to “The Skittish Weekly.")